Chapter Text
Laira
Michael's fingers slide up her back, toying with her neck and the wet tendrils of hair sticking to her skin. The bathtub itself is fairly ridiculous. No one needs a tub this extravagant and it takes a whole field's worth of water to fill it. Laira has never used it, even though it's been in her quarters the whole time she's been president.
But they have enough water. Headquarters is well supplied, the water can be recycled, the heat will be used, they're not taking anything that won't be reused and reallocated, and it still feels wrong. Like she's taking something from everyone else.
It's all right. It has to be. They have enough power and resources and everything is all right.
They can take a bath. Michael's exquisite naked anyway.
"Feels weird, doesn't it?"
"It feels wonderful." Shutting her eyes, Laira lowers her head to rest on her knees just about the surface of the water. "Too indulgent by so many degrees."
"Have you ever used this?"
"Of course not."
"Then you owe yourself a bath or two." Michael kisses her shoulder and stretches out behind her, legs slipping around her waist. "Did I ever tell you about the bath on the ISS Shenzhou?"
"The Terrans like baths?"
"The Terrans like excess, and power, comfort, if you're in a position to demand it." She nuzzles the back of Laira's neck, somehow Michael's touch is warmer than the bath. "I had Saru as a slave, and it was terrible, but the bath was nice."
"I hope this one's better."
"The company's better." Michael's hand touches her belly, holding her close. "The light over there was wrong, somehow, like you could feel the uneasiness, their brutality."
Laira covers Michael's hand with hers. "I'm glad we didn't go back there."
"Me too. Little pocket universe of sweaters wasn't bad."
"How was the light?"
Michael toys with her hair, pulling it to the side to kiss her neck. "You looked beautiful."
Laughing, Laira shakes her head. "That can't be true I don't even know how long I threw up on that shuttle. It's a blur."
Michael chuckles. "Oh that was a while."
"I'm so sorry."
Michael hugs her shoulders. "For what?"
"How sore you must get sitting on the floor."
"Vulcans mediate on stone for days, sitting in the bathroom's nothing."
Laira turns towards her face, wishing she could kiss her. "It's something to me."
"It'll pass, it'll be worth it. Really, holding your hair back isn't hard, especially while it's up. If you went to work with it down, that would be one thing, but—"
"It's so chaotic down."
"And that's not you."
"It can't be, not while I'm president."
Michael hums in agreement, but the way she's nibbling her way up Laira's neck suggests there's not much time left to talk before they find other things to distract themselves with naked, and she has to say this. They wouldn't have been in that shuttle together if Laira hadn't—
She takes a breath, letting her muscles tense before she forces them to release again. "It was my idea to break it off with my former partner." Saying it makes it real, but reality is less heavy than she feared.
Michael's hands find her shoulders, warm and firm. "It wasn't mutual?"
"He needed more than I had to give him."
"That's a good reason to end something." Michael makes it sound so easy, logical even.
"He didn't think so." Laira leans back, looking upwards.
Michael toys with her hair, running her fingers over her wet scalp. "He lost you, that's difficult."
Laira swallows a nervous laugh, and it catches in her throat. "He didn't- I made it hard for him."
"By coming home?"
"He lost his lab, and everything they'd done setting up their work. He was evacuated, not knowing if they'd make it. I- I couldn't—"
Michael nuzzles her hair. "Being with someone doesn't mean you're everything for them."
Perhaps that was true in Michael's time, when they had plenty, and people traveled easily. Who else would he have had to talk to? His research team was like family, but he didn't love them. He loved her and she couldn't, she didn't—
"Perhaps that's how it was in your time. He doesn't have anyone else."
"Is he what you wanted?" The question's soft, not at all demanding, and it shouldn't cut through as much as it does. Michael gets straight through her defenses, even when she doesn't know they're up.
"I thought so, once." Laira pulls in her knees, turning in the bath to face Michael. The water sloshes around them and the bubbles float on the surface by their legs. Looking at her is the most foolish thing, but she has to see Michael's face. There's something- she needs something - Laira doesn't even have words for it, but it's there, in Michael's endless brown eyes.
"It seemed right," she continues, trailing her hands over the water. Michael's little smile takes the chill out of her chest, but it's too intense, and Laira watches the bubbles dance away from her fingers. "We were happy together until we weren't."
"What changed?"
Laira takes a breath, letting her hands sink. "I did."
"It's a hell of a thing, isn't it?"
"I've been through the end of the Burn, the end of the Emerald Chain, that was just a negotiation. First contact happens all the time. Going to talk to the 10C should have been fine. "
"First contact with billions of lives depending on it is one of the most intense things I've been through." Michael rests her hands on Laira's knees, stroking her skin. "Being the Red Angel, coming to the future, that was almost worse, but that was so fast. We built the suit so quickly that we were finishing it while we ran and then we left. It wasn't days of knowing what was coming, getting down to hours of time before Earth and Ni'Var—" She shakes her head and laughs, weary and brave. "This was one of the most significant first contacts in all of Federation history, that's intense. That changes you."
"We came back fine. We didn't lose anyone on your ship, not Book, or Ndoye. Earth's defenses kept casualties low, Ni'Var fared even better."
"Success doesn't mean it wasn't brutal."
"But we're fine."
"Are we?" Michael touches her chin, then kisses her forehead. "Are you?"
"I should be."
"Of course."
"It wasn't—"
"Billions of lives depended on what we discovered, how we chose to talk to them. What math equations we sent: at any point, that could have gone wrong, and everyone would have been doomed. You carried that."
Laira makes an incredulous noise - that was not her - that was them and Michael starts to smile.
"We carried that. Taking on that much stays with you. I still feel it. Why shouldn't that be with you?"
Shaking her head isn't an answer, it's not even an argument. "How do we set that down?"
Michael touches her cheek, searching for her eyes because she's going to look right through her, like she always does. "I don't think we do. Coming to the future changed the whole crew of Discovery. That loss is with us, so is what we nearly lost to the DMA, what we risked to save our home; that'll be with us. It gets lighter, maybe we get stronger as we carry it, but I don't know if we ever set it down."
"How did you get so wise?"
Laughing, Michael leans close enough to touch their noses togeter. "Therapy, trauma, a tremendous loss in my formative years."
Laira laughs, guilt rising hot in her chest. "You're not alone in that."
"Wish I was." Michael leans in, kissing her gently, then again, lingering. "I would like to have met your mother."
"You'd be trouble together, I think. I don't know if it would be good for me."
"Oh?"
"You'd be friends."
"And that's bad?"
Chuckling, Laira kisses her cheek, then touches Michael's lip with her finger. "You both believe so much."
"That would be hard for you."
"My father believed, everyone around me did."
Michael grabs her hands, holding them close in the water. "You believe."
"Not the way you do." Laira kisses her, falling into the warmth of her mouth. No one kisses like Michael. "You are singular "
"Good." Michael laughs, crinkling her nose. One of her hands brushes against Laira's thigh, trailing downward, and their eyes meet. There's this way Michael says come to bed with her eyes that does something molten to Laira's stomach.
Michael stands, then offers her hands to Laira. "Computer, please deactivate the bath and recycle."
Programmable matter runs into the floor with the water, vanishing beneath their feet. They stand in the bathroom, in front of the windows, and Michael hands her a towel, huge and entirely too soft. Michael smiles so brightly that maybe it's not bad.
Maybe she could like this.
"How's your head?"
For once, absolutely fine. Laira's not dizzy, not even nauseated. She's nearly forgotten what it's like to feel at ease in her own skin, but this afternoon has that calm. Smiling at Michael, coy and amused, she nods. "You were right."
"Oh?" Michael drops her towels raising her arms around her neck. "I mean, I usually am."
"I haven't sneezed in over an hour."
"Hugh said humidity could help."
"Humidity on the station is perfectly controlled."
Michael guides her towards the bed, steering her like a shuttle. "Set at the agreed upon level designed to cause the least discomfort in the most species."
Rolling her eyes, Laira pauses in the doorway, backing Michael against the frame. "It's the most fair."
"I think it's too dry for you."
"A few percentage points of water won't make me stop sneezing."
Nodding before she kisses her neck, Michael sighs. "I know it's worse for you-"
"I'm fine today."
"Today."
"Live in the moment, Captain."
Laughing, Michael slips her knee between Laira's thighs, opening her legs. "Have I ever mentioned how sexy that sounds when you say it?"
"Might have come up."
"Good."
The more they kiss against the doorframe, the higher Michael's knee rises and the water isn't even gone from between her thighs, but now she's slicker than wet. Michael's teasing fingers follow, caressing her until Laira has to break the kiss, panting.
"In a hurry?"
"I wasn't, but now--" They tumble into the bed, legs sliding together, hands searching. Laira's breasts are still too sore and too sensitive and Michael enjoys making her gasp a little too much. She presses Michael to the bed, kissing her roughly, lips against teeth.
Nibbling down Michael's chest, she toys with her breasts, sucking and teasing until Michael laughs and pants and wriggles up trying to get Laira's mouth down.
Laughing, Laira kisses her stomach then looks up. "I'm sorry, Captain, did you want something?"
Michael sighs up at the ceiling, then runs her fingers through Laira's wet hair. "You're such a tease."
"Negotiation is all about anticipation, making sure the other party really wants what you have to offer them." Laira trails her hand down Michael's thigh, taunting her with her fingers. "Needing is even better than wanting."
"You don't think I need you?"
"Oh, I have an idea," Laira starts to tease, but Michael's hands catch her shoulders, toying with her neck. "A good idea."
Making Michael orgasm is a pleasure, something she could easily spend the rest of her life doing, if she's that fortunate. It's fun; reminds her of her foolish youth, and the many, many times she fell in love. Pilot Laira didn't worry about how her heart would break at the end. Didn't have to worry about the optics of who she dated and what that meant for the Federation. Chose badly and her crew would mock her then buy her a drink. Nothing lost.
They would have adored Michael. The whole galaxy should.
She lowers her mouth to Michael's body, slips her fingers within, dedicates herself to seeking the beauty of that release. Michael's thighs shudder, then buck beneath her mouth, and the way Michael turns her name into something between a prayer and an expletive is gorgeous.
Resting her head on Michael's heart, she listens to Michael's heartbeat slow. By the end of Laira's relationship with her last partner, sex was an afterthought: a way they concluded dinner, how they said goodbye. She was happy, in theory, the relationship worked. When they had time they went on dates, if they had enough time, they had sex. They talked.
She didn't- it wasn't - they didn't— This is different. Not just because of the blob taking all her iron, but the connection - the vulnerability - how deep she let Michael get under her skin.
Michael sits up, guiding her up, holding her face in that way that makes her feel worshiped. Monks are as gentle with the sacred orbs as Michael is with her. Kissing her eye ridge, then her cheek, Michael sighs happily.
"I like your ideas."
"I thought you might."
"I should try them out."
"Oh?"
"Study your negotiating techniques."
Laughing, Laira sits back against the headboard, pulling Michael in to kiss her. "And here I thought you hated politics."
"This kind I could get into." Michael parts Laira's thighs, arranges the pillows, and then guides Laira's hands back, placing them on the headboard so she can hold on. "Some political maneuvers draw you in, make you want to find the center."
"What the other side really wants?"
"Oh, I think I know."
There's no winning this game with Michael. An orgasm implies the need for another, spiraling upwards until they're both panting, exhausted. This is still new, and practice only makes Michael more careful with her lips, more deliberate with her tongue. Trying to make Laira cry out - surrender - is a challenge, studying her nerves is an art, and Michael is destructive to her control.
This time Michael drives her easily to the place where she could stop, pull back, return to being held, but her hands are tight on the headboard. Michael's within and without; hot, demanding, and if she trusts her, if she lets go—
Release tingles all over her skin, tears burn her face, and a pulsing between her thighs vibrates, as if her heartbeat is that much closer to the surface. Falling to the pillows beside Laira, her hands go limp. Laira takes a breath, shuts her eyes and waits for the room to stop spinning like the spore drive's inside her head.
Eventually she slides down, lying on the bed again, still catching her breath. Michael curls against her, pulling her in close.
"I told you, days off are great."
Laira chuckles, trying to remember how to speak. "They were much more dull before."
"Days off with me are great, I'll amend that."
Laira holds her close, tracing patterns on her skin, adding Michael to her life has made so much of it better. "They are."
Michael eases the sheets over them, drawing her in closer. "Ready for dinner tomorrow?"
"My most delicate negotiation yet." Michael's family is coming to dinner, they're telling them about the baby, and their relationship.
"You know my crew."
Laira hums, settling in against Michael's chest in her favorite position. "I wasn't yours before."
"Now you're theirs too." Michael toys her hair, running her fingers through as it dries.
"I haven't had that much family in many years."
"We've had each other, and it's made us incredibly close." Her fingers find Laira's shoulder. "Families grow."
Bringing a baby in is different than teenagers, and partners. Their hitchhiker is going to change everything like a real wrecking ball, but Dr. Culber was happy. Tilly was so happy she hugged them both. Their hitchhiker is a joy.
A wonder.
Laira takes a breath, then lifts her head. "It's so fast."
"They know you."
"They know the president."
"They've seen you, she's you."
"Thank you."
"President you is pretty damn hot you know."
"Oh?"
"There's just something about 'Madam President'."
"Says the captain."
Michael chuckles. "It sounds good when you say it."
"It does, doesn't it?" Laira crawls up to kiss her. "I like saying it."
"I like your mouth."
"Oh you do?"
"I do." Michael's gaze lingers. "I like you."
Like isn't strong enough, love is there, right there, unsaid, unremarked, not yet spoken into being. It's intense, promising, terrifying, and Michael lets it float between them like the bubbles. The idea of love whispers like Michael's heartbeat, comforting and familiar. It's too soon to voice it, too soon to think it, but she can't help herself.
Taking a nap before dinner was Michael's idea, and a good one. Meeting Michael's family without wanting to fall asleep is important, but Laira's barely closed her eyes before Michael touches her shoulder.
"Hey."
"Already?"
Michael laughs, leaning down to kiss her in the dark bedroom. "Hugh and Paul are a little early. Hugh wants to check you out, if that's all right."
"So it's a working visit?"
"If that's all right?"
Laira would agree with almost anything that came with that look in Michael's eyes. Sitting up, she waits for the room to spin, but it's calm again today. Not feeling terrible is different enough that she pauses, even smiles. "That's all right."
Michael kisses her gently, hand on her shoulder. Laira's chest aches from the domesticity of it. She didn't have this when she's been dating for years.
She's never had this.
Dr. Culber - Hugh - passes Michael with a pat on the shoulder. That turns into a hug and that too stings in the best way. Love vibrates between Michael and her crew, suffusing every interaction. She meets Laira's eyes again, making sure she's all right before she leaves her with Hugh.
Hugh meets Laira's eyes, moves his hand towards the bed for permission, then sits on the bed beside her. No tricorder yet, just his hands.in his lap.
"How's it going?"
Laughter comes first, nervous and not. She could lie, or insist she's fine. She could send him away because she has other doctors. So many doctors are available to the president, all dedicated. This one's Michael's family.
"Today was good."
"And you're still tired."
"Exhausted."
He nods. Hugh's hand hovers for a moment, then finds hers, covering her nervous fingers with the warmth of his palm. "That comes from all sides."
"Of course it does."
"Dizzy?"
"Not today."
Hugh nods, knowingly. "Comes with the inhibitor I gave you?"
"Yes."
"First few hours or after it wears off?"
"When it wears off."
"Well, that's gotta be hell." He squeezes her hand again, smiling that charming smile. "The same hormones that lead to sneezing help signal the intense vascular growth necessary in Bajoran pregnancies, so I can't suppress those. Sneezing itself is one of those reflexes that keeps--"
She sneezes, twice, turning to her shoulder. His soft smile when she turns back reminds her of her father, gone all these years.
"Sneezing keeps you alive."
"Great."
"Trying to turn that off wrecks havoc with your inner ear."
Now she nods. "It's like putting Tellarite stabilizers in a Cardassian ship."
His laughter is as charming as his smile."'l'd ask Paul what that's like, but unless mushrooms are involved, he'll just shake his head at me."
Laira sighs, looking down then shakes her head. "It was one of the more unpleasant things I've ever experienced."
"The stabilizers or this?"
"This when the hypo wears off."
"Yeah, that's some bullshit, I will keep working on it."
"But--"
"How is it you politicians like to say? It's a delicate balance." No wonder the Discovery crew loves him, he's one of the more empathetic doctors she's ever had. The kindness never leaves his eyes.
"Ah."
"You know you're the first person of your particular genetic heritage to have a baby with a human?"
Laira nods, then sneezes again instead of answering.
Hugh waits for her to stop, which is some time, then pats her hand. "I've studied Cardassian-Bajoran pregnancies, and they're tolerable one way, brutal another-" he pauses, starting his scan. "And Bajoran-human pregnancies aren't bad at all, just fast, and the vascular demands are high. Those cases actually reported less nausea than the human baseline."
"How fortunate for them."
He winks. "Not you?"
"Not me."
"Good to know." Hugh waves at his tricorder and the holo display of their little hitchhiker hangs between them and the wall, golden and strange.
That dark curve is her body, the blob the hitchhiker, and the golden lines of light that start to form between them must be-- She turns to Hugh, waiting for his explanation.
"This is the Bajoran vascularization I was talking about. In Cardassians, a nutrient sac feeds the fetus, much like a yolk. It's slower, and their pregnancies can last almost two standard years, 610 days or so. In humans, the placenta is more efficient, and human pregnancies are about 280 days. Bajoran pregnancies can be as short as 150 days, due to the intense level of vascularization and nutrient transfer."
"So pick one of those?"
"Yeah, just make an executive decision." He indicates the lines on the holo, pulling the image closer. "These are all going to be blood vessels, demanding ones. Your blood volume's already increased since your first scan right days ago, and it'll keep increasing to meet demand."
"However--" Laira waits, there's always a however.
"Your system is unique, this is pulling in three very different directions. It'll have some bumps."
"Expect spatial turbulence?"
"It's not too late to move her-"
She can't imagine letting the hitchhiker go, even if this remains difficult. "No."
His smile grows even brighter. "Okay."
"Just, tell me what-" she pause again, losing her nerve. "Is she okay?"
"She is incredibly healthy. Genetically, cellularly, on the quantum level; she's perfect. You're doing great."
"I didn't-"
"You did." He squeezes her hand again. "I can't tell you how many days it'll take for her to gestate, or predict what horribly inconvenient, uncomfortable thing will happen next, but I know you're doing great. She's incredible because you are." Hugh leans in closer. "And Michael, of course. Couldn't have chosen a better parent than Michael."
Her grip on his hand is clumsy, and her eyes sting, and it takes half a moment for him to ask permission, then hug her instead, holding her tight and warm, and she's not crying.
She is.
"Take it easy on yourself. This is huge, and exhausting, and you're allowed to feel like shit."
He wants her to laugh, and she does, because no one talks to her like that, hasn't for years. Decades ago, the healers in her father's fleet would repair a broken bone and tease her about breaking it better next time. Find an interesting way to hit that hard head of yours, princess. Snapped wrists are so dull, Lar-Lar. How'd you break ribs on both sides crashing your ship on the port?
What ridiculous nickname is this baby going to have? Will she run laughing through Discovery, and headquarters, and Ni'Var - Earth - she'll see Earth, run on the beach, through the woods—
Her tears must be in his neck, because he hugs a little tighter.
"We've got you," Hugh says, with the same calm certainty. "You don't know it yet, but you're ours now."
Then Hugh's crying and she's sneezing and they're both laughing before she's collected herself enough to go join Paul and Michael. In the living room, Michael must have just told him about the baby because Paul's misty eyed and Michael's wiping away tears and they're struggling to open some fancy bottle when Michael's other engineer, Reno, arrives and solves the problem for them with a knock of the bottle against the wall.
"Guess we're celebrating then?" Reno says, grabbing one of the glasses from the table.
"We are." Paul hands a glass to Hugh, then to Michael, then finally the softness with how Paul looks at Laira makes her chest tight. "We definitely are."
Hugh touches Paul's back then they wrap arms around each other, clinking glasses. It must be easier for Hugh that Paul knows. Reno can obviously read the room, because her eyes move from Hugh to Paul, then Michael.
Laira should say something, really it's her news to share, but her words fail before she starts and I stead she sneezes, catching herself with her elbow. Sneezing three times before she stops, she doesn't have to answer, or even say anything. The silence hovers, Michael, Paul and Hugh share a smile.
Finally, Reno looks at Laira, a heartbeat passes, then another. Reno lifts her glass towards Michael's walk or holos from Ni'Var. "I hear the new holos can carry allergens, they're so realistic."
Laira opens her mouth, trying to fight the urge to say something diplomatic, something funny. If this was a negotiation, it would be easy. She'd know what to say. She'd have researched Reno's entire life and know how to approach the entire conversation. Instead, Laira can't find the words to explain the hitchhiker.
"That must be it."
"Must be difficult for you. All these far too realistic dusty space holos making you sneeze." Reno tilts her head at the other wall. "Space ones making you nauseated." She takes a sip of her drink. "Did you know that a static warp bubble produces a temporary universe so malleable that thought can alter it? Make people and whole solar systems disappear, or make new ones."
"Hopefully neither of us thought up a new planet."
Michael touches Laira's arm then her back. Laira fidgets with Michael's jacket, then Michael's hand is in hers and it's warm and grounding the way nothing else really is. Michael's family loves her. Laira will love them. This will be wonderful, she just has to let it. Trust them, trust herself.
Reno takes a step towards her, holding up one of the glasses everyone else is drinking. Kandora whisky - Laira's Kandoran whisky actually - that bottle was a gift from the Kandoran ambassador. Probably the finest in her collection of unopened gifts. They chose well.
"What can I get you?" Reno asks, ignoring the open bottle everyone else is drinking. Does she suspect? Is she just being polite?
"I can go to the replicator--" Michael starts, reaching for the glass.
"No, I have a guess, I think." Reno meets Laira's eyes, calm, almost unnervingly. She smiles, her expression softening. "Besides, you must have the best replicator in the fleet. I'll be back."
"She uh- likes to tend bar--" Hugh starts to explain.
Paul finishes him. "She has a flair for cocktails."
Laira chews her lip, then forces herself to relax. This is Michael's family, this is good. Michael will tell them. She can trust that.
Michael leans in, whispering; "Sometimes Reno just knows things. She has an interesting knowledge base."
Tilly and Michael's two bridge officers, Detmer and Owosekun, arrive together before Reno returns from the replicator.
"So I found these two arguing about if the lift would even bring them up here." Tilly accepts a drink from Hugh and rolls her eyes at the two women, who arrived holding hands.
"We don't have security clearance-" Owosekun starts, shrugging a little.
Detmer raises her eyebrows. "We were invited."
Tilly lifts her glass to Paul for more, then asks. "Does the computer know that? Do invitations get logged formally so the computer can sort them out and decide who can access this deck?"
"They do," Michael answers, touching Laira's shoulder with her head. "And you have clearance."
"Just for tonight though," Laira says with her most serious tone. "Your badges will beam you back when it expires."
"So it's Cinderella dinner party then?" Detmer asks, downing all of her drink in gulp.
"Cinderella?" Laira repeats, confused. What an odd word. "Is that something you eat?"
Owosekun grins, shaking her head. "No, no, it's an old-"
"Very old-" Tilly adds.
"-Earth story," Owosekun finishes. "Cinderella is the hero of the story. She has to leave a party before the magic runs out."
"Magic?"
"She has a magic ball gown, and in some versions there are mice." Owosekun smiles, warm in a way that's absolutely charming. "Someday we'll have to tell it to you."
Laira must be making a face because Tilly laughs.
"It's a fairy tale for children, so it'll be relevant pretty quickly, not that I--" Tilly stares at her glass and then finishes the contents quickly. "Is Reno making cocktails? I'll need another drink."
Detmer and Owosekun share a puzzled glance, and Detmer shrugs. So they don't know, even though everyone else in the room does. Is Michael going to tell them now? During dinner? Later? How does she say it? How did she tell Tilly?
Laira should be listening to the conversation, and it's happening all around her, but the only thing she's sure of is Michael, and the way she's warm and steady.
"Is it all right if we look around?" Owosekun asks, looking at the viewport behind Michael's telescope. "I've been wanting to see what the inside of the spires looks like."
Detmer rolls her eyes a little, then smiles wickedly. "Flying it would be better."
Laira tilts her head, surprised. "You want to fly headquarters?" Pilots usually want the fastest, most ridiculous craft, not flying cities full of diplomats and cadets.
"Have you seen the specs?"
Before Laira can reply, Reno returns and hands her a beautiful drink, red and gold, crowned with a bright, showy flower Laira's never seen before.
"Flowering ginger," Reno says, pointing at the flower in the drink. "You can eat it, if you want. Little spicy but it might help if it feels like the deck's vibrating a little too fast."
"Thank you."
"Seems only fair if we're drinking all your Kandoran whisky. In our century, it was prized, and considering how much rarer it must be now, fancy juice is the least I can do for you both." Reno looks at Laira, then Michael, but her gaze flits down Laira's body for a moment and that both carries a double meaning. Did she know other Bajorans? Is it because she's an engineer who understands warp bubbles?
"You're welcome to it." Laira tilts her head, trying to ease the ache in the back of her neck. She's not sure where this headache's come from in particular, but it's hard to keep track. Michael touches her shoulder, reading far too much into the way Laira tries to tilt her head away from her headache. Sipping her drink, she releases Michael's hand to touch the back of her neck.
Michael makes a sympathetic noise, and tilts her head towards the sofas. "Come sit."
Owosekun and Detmer share the kind of look that would hit her career like a torpedo if they were somewhere in public. They're worried about her. She looks weak, and her quarters it's fine. She'll be fine, but outside the door... Best not to worry about it. Michael's family is safe. No one's going to decide she can't lead the Federation if she has a headache.
Detmer and Owosekun sit across from them, their thighs touching in a way that suggests closeness. Is this new? Is it something they have just begun? Michael sits her drink on the table, and takes Laira's before she risks spilling it by sneezing. Jolting her head does nothing for her headache, and she keeps her eyes shut for a moment, trying to catch her equilibrium. Michael touches her neck, fingers gentle against her spine, and then hands her drink back.
"Might help."
Laira closes her eyes for moment, trying to recenter herself, looking down at brilliant red flower in her drink. She takes a sip, then presses her lips together. When she looks up, Owosekun's eyes are on her, concerned and warm. Detmer looks at Michael, then back to Laira, more tentative, but no less caring. Of course, Michael's entire crew cares, and can't stop themselves from caring. Her father's crew was the same way, gruff as they were.
"Is everything all right?" Owosekun asks.
Michael nods before Laira does, and Michael's smile has that light that outshines the stars again. "We need to tell you something that's new."
Owosekun takes Detmer's hand, pulling it down to their laps. She looks from Laira to Michael, her smile lingering. "If it's just that you're dating, you're not hiding that well."
"We're really not, are we?" Chuckling, Michael takes a breath. "Laira and I are having a baby."
Mouth falling open, Owosekun tightens her grip on Detmer's hand. Her dark eyes shine and she leans forward. "You're pregnant?"
Michael laughs, then smiles, brightening the whole room. "Laira is. Warp bubbles are a hell of a thing."
Detmer frowns, not about the warp bubble, but about Laira's first name, as if she hasn't placed who that is. She tilts her head, confused. Owosekun nudges her, then she whispers into Detmer's red hair. Detmer startles, stares at Laira, drops her eyes and then starts to blush bright red.
"Congratulations," Owosekun begins, "Assuming that's—"
"It was a surprise," Michael pauses, looking to Laira. She kisses her cheek, making it a little easier. "A good one."
Releasing Detmer's hand, Owosekun leaves the sofa, crosses to Michael and leans down, touching their foreheads together. "A baby is a marvelous thing."
Michael stands, hugging her tight as they both laugh. "Thank you."
Detmer doesn't move from the sofa. She smiles, tentatively, and Laira's chest aches.
"Seems like my first name is madam, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, I would have gotten that faster."
"I'm sorry." Laira touches her chest. "I'm Laira."
"Keyla," Detmer offers in return. "When she's done hugging, that's Joann, but the hugging's going to take awhile." Detmer - Keyla - finishes her whisky and sets down her glass.
Laira points at the cabinet behind the bar. "Bottom shelf has the good stuff."
"Good or actually drinkable?"
"The kind no one should drink."
Keyla finally smiles easily, and relaxes enough that her shoulders let go. "Oh thank god." She leaves the sofa in search of truly terrible rot-gut. She'd fit in with the scruffy spacers of Laira's father's fleet. Their back patting and teasing might be easier for Keyla than the hugging and crying.
Laira pulls the flower to the side and sips the drink Reno brought her. She can only place a few flavors in it, and it's delicious. She couldn't explain what's in it, or how Reno made it. She takes another sip, watching Keyla open the unlabeled bottled of spacer liquor across the room. Michael's crew takes turn sniffing it and laughing. Keyla drinks it straight and Reno starts grabbing things to mix with it while Paul, Hugh and Tilly laugh.
They're so comfortable with each other. How long has it been since Laira was that close to anyone? Stacey will laugh and drink two shots for Laira when she tells her. T'Rina will likely figure it out for herself in ten minutes or less, and she'll be pleased in that most gentle Vulcan way.
Her father would laugh if she could tell him. People try for years to get pregnant, especially with hybrid genetics involved, but she flew into it. Starfleet's so stuck up, Lar-Lar. All rules and regulations and perfect uniforms.
He would have liked Michael. She's spacer enough, broke enough rules that he'd understand her. Most rules are meant to be broken, even if they're your rules, Madam President. Not that he saw an election of hers, but he'd understand. He'd see the love in this crew immediately and know she was home again. Laira can imagine her father laughing as they try to make cocktails out of deck polish. Keyla would understand him as they mocked Michael's fancy crew and drank rot-gut straight.
Laira can smile thinking of her father; rest her hand in her lap and think of him with a smile. Her mother is a more painful memory, and part of her hopes it'll just pass, that her mind won't dwell on her, not today. She has so much less of a concept of her mother. She didn't know her mother as an adult. Never talked to her the way she talked to her father. She can't imagine her mother talking to Michael's crew because she has so much less to remember.
Laira's mother would be happy, even thrilled to meet so many people from Earth and listen to their stories. They've swam in the Pacific and walked on the beaches her mother always wanted to see. She'd want to take the hitchhiker to see Malaysia, and lay in the sand. Laira can almost remember her mother laughing when they swam on Bajor.
When she looks down, her fingers look like her mother's, resting on her belly. Laira's older than either of her parents ever had a chance to be. Her life is so stable, from the replicator that always works, to Discovery's spore drive that can take her from Cardassia to Earth in moments. When - if - she and Michael get married, her family can come from every planet, Michael's too.
Their hitchhiker's going to see everything, know everyone. Grow up knowing what all the oceans smell like and the sand from dozens of planets beneath her feet. Laira's mother would be so proud of that, of Michael, of Laira, and yet she can't hear her. Can't imagine what she'd say. Laira's sinuses sting, and instead of the now familiar sneezing, she has to blink because she's suddenly about to cry.
"Is it all right if I hug you?" Joann startles her out of her thoughts.
Laira nods, pressing her lips together because she can't manage to form words. She stands into Joann's arms, hiding her face against her shoulder.
"My grandmother always said that our children find us when they are ready, and sometimes that's not when we would say it's the right time, and we have to trust that they know, and we're ready."
Trust in everything comes so easily to Michael's crew, as if they've never been betrayed, or failed. Their arms are open. Laira's mother wanted her to see the universe that way, and she tried. She tried, but her universe was full of loss.
Joann holds her tight, arms around her back. Warm against Laira's chest, she holds her steady, sharing her breath and her heartbeats. When she releases her, Joann holds her arms, then touches her face, smiling in that easy way Laira's grandmother used to smile, nothing held back.
"You know, Discovery is your home now too."
It's been a very long time since a place was her home. She's had people, some closer, some more like making do, but having a place that was home is so far in her past that she's forgotten it like her mother's voice. She nods, wiping her eyes, and Joann touches her face, brushing away tears.
"It's all right."
"I know." Laira takes a breath. "It's still nice to hear."
Joann beams, then leans down, whispering to the baby something Laira can't hear.
Michael touches her back, saving her from more tears. "Let's eat."
"My mom used to throw fancy dinner parties at our house for visiting ambassadors," Tilly says, pulling out the chair next to Laira's and sitting down while Paul and Hugh set out plates in front of everyone. "All the good forks and fancy plates and I had to be so good all the time. I hated it, even when the good was delicious, because it's not polite to like it. Unless you're Tellarite, that at least was fun."
Squeezing Laira's hand under the table. Michael chuckles with Tilly. "Not loudly enjoying the food would be the height of bad manners on Tellar Prime."
Everyone has stories about dinners with their family, with friends, with people dead hundreds of years and people they met here. They laugh so easily, share their food, make each other drinks and pass things around and she remembers what this was like. She had this before. This was dinner with her grandparents and her father's fleet and her mother used to make drinks with whatever they had around and her father would laugh when he tried them. This is what family sounds like, how they love, and it feeds her more than dinner ever could.
Michael's tipsy enough after dinner to kiss her cheek and waver a little. There is something absolutely charming about how joyful she is in her slightly intoxicated haze. Reno wants to try mixing sparkling wine and Romulan whisky and some fruit and Michael holds her liquor the worst of her crew, but she wants to try it.
Laira lingers at the table, finishes her water.
Hugh sits against the table after Michael leaves, tricorder in hand. "Do you want to tell me about your headache?"
She laughs wearily, because compared the to last few days, or how she usually feels by this time... "It's nothing."
"You can keep ignoring it or let me figure out what it is." He holds up the tricorder, waiting for her to nod. "My guess is blood volume, or a hormonal migraine."
Handing her plate to Keyla, Laira shakes her head. "It's not that bad."
"Think of it as research for the award winning paper I'm going to write about interspecies pregnancy."
"Anything for your research, Doctor."
"That's the spirit." His tricorder hums, collecting data while he watches the crew drink some terrible concoction and laugh. "Reno usually does a good job, but I think you're lucky to be safe from this latest one."
"Romulan whisky doesn't blend, brings out all the wrong notes."
"And here I thought you were a terrible space deck polish hooch kind of person."
"That at least goes with everything."
Hugh chuckles, holding up a hypo. "Changes in vascular structure leading to low blood pressure and painful dilation." After she nods and lets him inject her, he tucks his hypo away. "I wouldn't get up quickly."
"Thank you."
"Oh thank you." He offers a hand getting to her feet. "I'd been curious if the reworking of your blood vessels would spread to the brain or if it was a local overhaul. Turns out it's everywhere."
"How lovely."
Rubbing her shoulder, he walks with her to the sofa. "Neuroblocker three-six in the replicator, start with one dose, you can take two if it doesn't go away within an hour."
"No lecture about drinking more water?"
"No lectures," Hugh promises. "You're going through enough. Feel free to lecture me if I get annoying." He pats her shoulder and returns to the table. Paul brings her a full water glass with a smile, then leaves her to watch Tilly and Michael laugh over the second try at a cocktail involve Romulan whisky, by the shade of blue.
That one, again, is terrible, and they dump their glasses, teasing Reno mercilessly for her error.
The neuroblocker rubs the sharp edges off her headache, softening it too a foggy sensation that's tolerable. Hugh was right, and it's much more pleasant to sit without her head pounding. Laira thought she hid it better during dinner, but it is his place to notice, and he's good at it. She wouldn't even have tried neuroblocker thirty-six because it's not in the headache category.
Michael joins her on the sofa with water, not another drink, still shaking her head. "I don't think it can be done."
"Oh?"
"They're trying to mix your Romulan whisky." Michael tilts her head towards Reno and Paul.
"It doesn't go with anything." Laira leans into her shoulder.
"It's good on it's own-" Michael starts.
"It's not-"
"I like it."
Laira wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Good, you drink it."
Michael laughs, curling close. She slips an arm around Laira's shoulders and clumsily pulls her in. "Not tonight."
"That seems wise."
"Planning on drinking me under the table later?"
Laira sets down her empty water glass. "Oh yes, easily."
"Your tolerance will be gone."
"I used to be a pilot, dear."
Michael watches Keyla lead a round of shots and laughs, nuzzling Laira's ear. "Pilots are a special category, but I don't know...months without drinking."
Months without feeling like her own person, but that's worth it, isn't it? There's a baby at the end. Michael's wandering hand rests on her belly, connecting them. Laira covers Michael's hand with her own, smiling before she realizes how happy she is.
Michael kisses her forehead, bringing her back. "I think you survived."
"Trial by fire." Laira has to keep her tone light or she'll cry again.
"They love you," Michael whispers into her hair. "I knew they would."
The best parts of her life were like this: family laughing and teasing each othe. Being wrapped in warmth and safety, humor and affection. Their child gets this, not for the fleeting years that Laira did, but in a lasting way. Decades of family dinners, hugs, teasing and laughter. This is life after the Burn and the DMA, when the Federation has its founding worlds once again and they reach out for more peace and stability. This is the galaxy they're going to rebuild. Laira's dreamt about it all her life. Their hitchhiker will grow up reaching out fearlessly like her mother and the galaxy will welcome her. She's never felt the promise of the Federation as vividly, as if it's pulsing in her chest.
"I love them," Laira replies, after a moment, when the thought has passed. I love you, Michael Burnham, foolishly and blissfully and more than I could ever—
Michael will say it first, someday. Laira squeezes her hand. Someday soon.